


Love Will Never Lie

by iammisscullen



Category: Zarry - Fandom
Genre: Actor Harry, Actor-Director AU, Director Zayn, M/M, Romance, there's a mention of harry being hysterical about death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: Harry shrugs off Zayn’s bored stare and instead focuses his attention on the other three and showers in their admiration. He just has to show Zayn that he’s good, that he’s the best for the role. He’s going to impress this boorish director and make him fall in love – with his acting skills of course.





	Love Will Never Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallaboutzarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutzarry/gifts).



> Trashed four drafts, but I hope this will somehow satisfy your prompt. Thank you to the two people who feedback on this. And thank you to the moderator for being so patient with me, and I apologise for being so late.
> 
> Hope you like this.
> 
> P.S.  
> I may have borrowed a few characters from SHADOWHUNTER so yeah. And all remaining mistakes are mine.

_people form constellations on stars,_

_they predict future in the sky._

_but our fates weren't written in the galaxy;_

_they were drafted in laughters, smiles, pain and compromises._

_our love wasn't destiny,_

_it's a constant choice;_

_you choose to love me despite the bad,_

_and i choose to be better for the good._

**_-every day is a new reading of our future_ **

**Spring is for New Beginning**

**(April)**

Ever since he was three, Harry knew he’d become an entertainer; he likes amusing people and making his mum laugh with all his silly jokes. He also likes the attention and loves the idea of people half falling in love with him.

But it wasn’t when he was eight, after watching _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ with his mum and Gemma in the cinema, that he’d dream of being on the big screen with everyone’s eyes on him – that thrills him that for once he has all the attention and the adoration.

He researched about actors’ salaries and imagines how many bag of gummy bears he can buy with the money; he estimates something as huge as their house. Or more because their house is tiny according to Gemma.

So, eight-years-old Harry joins every play, auditions for every lead and practises his face in the mirror every morning. He dreams of landing a Hollywood role to make sure that his mum never worries about the bills because his father can’t stay sober enough to help her.

Four years later, he becomes more obsess with films and actors. He rents endless movies and pretends that his father screaming at his mum is just another conflict that’s about to continue to a happily-ever-after like they do in films. And when it gets really hard at home, when the knocking on their door frequents and he loses count of the times the phone rings, and his classmates looking at Harry like he’s E.T., he imagines that he’s  Jimmy and there’s going to be a _It’s a Wonderful Life_ ending at the end of the tunnel.

But the banging on the door doesn’t stop, nor did the phone noise. It did stop when they transferred home. Only to return again in double fury.

Things goes from bad to worse that after watching _Peter Pan_ , he wishes that he has a Neverland to runaway too as well. But he can’t leave because his mum needs him. He needs to be the man of the family that his father couldn’t become when he goes away to some Asian country to hide away.

Films became his escape at fifteen as he ignores the constant noises around, the fact that his dad hasn’t returned home for five months, and that his mum cries whilst they were watching _Dumb and Dumber_.

And when an international phone call added new strain to their family tree and financial stability, Harry acted like this is just another episode of _Mari-Mar._

He’s so use to pretending that everything happening in his life is another climactic scene that it’s not surprising when he gets scout at fifteen and by seventeen he lands his first major role that brought him to the otherside of the world, the City of Lost Angel.

In Los Angeles he learns to use his sweet smiles and wicked tongue to rise amongst the competition. He feels like three again, people falling in love with him  when he smiles or winks or say cheeky lines. He absolutely bathes in the adoration that his small legion of fans showers him.

And there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s simply nothing wrong with being a little vain and sky high confident, right?

His dimples are Harry’s best weapon in charming anyone’s pants off, often landing him heartthrob roles that makes teenagers squeal inside the cinema or in the comfort of their homes. And using what he had been blessed with isn’t a bad thing either.

Eight years later and his smile are still as menacing as before. People still turn and stare. But it’s better now that he’s older, they watch him not in that adorable way because this time they ogle – eyes full of lust and want.

Definitely beneficial. It’ll get him more roles to play.

Sure enough, he’s going to use his famous wicked smirk and deep dimples to get the role of Tyler Scott Crawford, a rich New York socialite slash womaniser who had an affair with an Indian tycoon’s wife, that’s according to the script of _A Heart on Loan_ that had been sent to him by his agent, Hannah.

Twentieth Fox Century had bought the copyrights to Melissa Rosenberg’s screenplay and it’s being produced by Temple Hill Entertainment, the same company that produced _The Fault in Our Stars_ , _The Twilight Saga,_ a few of Nicholas Spark’s movie adaptation and some other romantic films of the 21st century. Which means that this movie can be a huge help to Harry’s career as an actor since there hadn’t been a lot of acting offers lately that doesn’t involve high school roles.

Harry’s sick of teen roles and they don’t pay much.

**

One thing about Harry is that he’s never late, always punctual and often too early. But shit happened this morning that had him emergency wiring money just to stop his other phone from ringing.

But for the first time, in a long time, he’s a bit late. Hannah’s going to hear about this and worry over him again. And she’ll have that look on her eyes again as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Harry hates that look, especially when it’s pointed at him.

He meets one of the assistants when he gets off the lift and she ushers him to a wooden door. She takes his name and goes inside after telling him to wait for a second.

After she’s gone, Harry’s left alone in the empty hallway and his phone beeps one more time. He’s about to pick it out of his overused black skinny jeans when the door suddenly opens again that startles him and he almost loses his balance.

‘The fuck,’ the person says in surprise, brown eyes wide.

And Harry loses his footing then. But thanks to the existing wall, he manages to keep himself upright as the intoxicating hazel eyes focus on him.

‘What are you doing out here?’ the man asks, brows furrowing as he completely slips out of the room.

But Harry’s not registering the question. He’s too busy looking at the lips forming the words, he’s too occupied processing that Zayn fucking Malik is in front of him – _talking to him_! It’s a whole lot to absorb. He can barely map anything in his head because the loud beating of his heart drowns all his coherency to reply.

Harry stares at the infamous Zayn Malik: brilliant director, impeccable cinematographer, an ethereal human being with a face of an angel that has no single romantic bone in his body.

The irony isn’t lost in Harry’s mind ever since his friend, Leah, gushed about Zayn after playing a minor role at one of Zayn’s blockbuster, romantic movie: _Dancing on Broken Glass._ Leah described an airbrushed picture of Zayn in Harry’s head – the epitome of Adonis and definitely a face that can launch a thousand ships. And Harry was surprised when he googled Zayn; Leah wasn’t exaggerating.

And despite hearing from Leah himself that Zayn’s a bit crude and crabby during filming, that didn’t stop Harry from crushing a little on Zayn. He watched nine out the bloke’s ten films and the other short black and white documentaries of Europe on Zayn’s blog.

Even before Harry’s self-discovery on Zayn’s excellence in film, he had heard a lot of great deal about Zayn and his talent in directing romantic genre movies that can make men cry, teenagers to squeal, and women to fantasise. But he had also heard rumours regarding Zayn’s blunt and stoic personality that people are often incredulous as to how one passive man can create such heart-warming masterpieces that will make you fall in love with love.

So, being here, in front of his crush – he prefers the term ‘idol’ because he’s not a hormone-ruled teenager – Harry takes the opportunity to etch into his memory the beauty of Zayn freaking Malik. Of course, all those chinwags about Zayn’s perfection were all half-truths – in Harry’s opinion – because the words ‘beautiful,’ ‘ethereal,’ ‘perfect,’ ‘gorgeous’ cannot justify Zayn’s godly symmetrical face that could have been formed by God Himself when He had decided to make the most perfect beauty in human history that even His angels are jealous of the human’s splendour.

Zayn’s too beautiful, it hurts Harry’s eyes and heart a bit; like something he can never dare to reach or touch.

‘Did you hear me?’ Zayn demands, looking at Harry like he’s been lobotomised.

Of course Harry hasn’t heard anything, he’s not even sure how to spell his name with Zayn being present before him.

Zayn rolls his eyes delicately that has Harry tangled in his super long lashes. ‘Whatever.’ He shrugs, and even the small movement of his shoulder is cinematic, Harry observes. ‘Just get me coffee,’ he orders. ‘Black.’

 _Just get me coffee_ , the phrase loops around Harry’s hazy brain.

‘Why aren’t you moving?’ the man demands.

 _Just get me coffee_ , it rattles inside his head.

‘Excuse me?’ Harry replies, frowning.

There are creases on Zayn’s forehead that signifies he’s irritated. ‘Are you really that stupid?’

‘Excuse me?’ Harry repeats, horrified at the accusation.

Zayn scoffs. He’s still beautiful despite the disgust that’s written on his face. ‘Where do they find _you_ people?’ He glares at Harry like his mere existence is the source of every problem ever listed.

A lot of things begin to queue in Harry’s mind like how dare Zayn Malik look down on him, why the fuck is Zayn Malik this rude, how can Zayn Malik not _know_ him, and why is Zayn fucking Malik still so freaking attractive in his eyes even when the man’s insulting him.

The last part of the list leads to Harry asking: what the fuck is wrong with him?

‘Know what?’ Zayn begins. ‘Forget it.’ He stomps his way around Harry and proceeds to the room across them.

It won’t be full showbiz and drama if Zayn doesn’t slam the door like he’s trying to win an Academy for Best Diva Exit.

The silence is deafening after that that it had Harry glued to his feet, staring at the shut door that Zayn left on his wake. Silently, Harry’s asking himself on what the fuck just happened?

But before he can rush after Zayn and demand the man what’s his problem, the woman from before emerges from the door and calls Harry in. 

**

‘Hi, my name is Harry Styles,’ he says after Selena, the woman from before, ushers him to sit down against the harsh lighting. A video camera points at him and he gives the panel his famous smile that shows off his gorgeous dimples.

His eyes dart immediately towards the honey-skinned man that had amber coloured eyes holding cold stares and tight strict – beautiful  – lips. If Zayn recognises him, the man doesn’t show it.

Deep down Harry wants to rush towards Zayn and demand him to apologise. How dare Zayn Malik not know Harry Styles and call him stupid. Zayn should know that he’s the one who’s stupid or with a stupid face – like no plastic surgery could ever come close to the perfect symmetry of his face.

Three out of the four members of the panel smiled back at him, they clearly know that he’s good-looking and charming just like how Harry knows that he’s handsome and fascinating. Only one pair of brown eyes didn’t seem bewitch by Harry’s charm. And Harry wants to scream at the man because Zayn Malik isn’t daze by his presence at all.

He’s going to show Zayn what Harry Styles can do. He will.

Harry shrugs off Zayn’s bored stare and instead focuses his attention on the other three and showers in their admiration. He just has to show Zayn that he’s good, that he’s the best for the role. He’s going to impress this boorish director and make him fall _in_ love – with his acting skills of course.

This is what Harry’s good at: memorising lines and pretending to be someone else because that’s easy than being himself. Who even is _himself_ anymore?

He doesn’t dwell on those thoughts; he gets on with it and slips into Tyler’s character and speaks his lines with the black haired woman acting as Shanali, Tyler’s lover in the story.

And when Harry looks at Zayn’s expression when he’s done reciting his lines. Zayn’s attention is on his papers as he writes down God-knows-what. Harry fumes at that, but he’s more frustrated that his acting wasn’t good enough to fish Zayn out of his own world.

‘We’ll call you, yeah?’ It’s the other man that speaks; his blue eyes are friendly and he’s got a kind smile on his lips. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Styles.’ And he’s polite too. Why can’t Zayn be like that feather-haired man?

‘Thank you for the opportunity as well,’ he says back and echoes the man’s smile even when all he wants to do is glare at Zayn till he looks up from his papers that seems to be more important than Harry’s existence.

If film industry has a Simon Cowell, that’d be Zayn Malik, Harry decides.

**

Harry’s on his way back to his flat shared with his mate, Clary, when he receives a text from her of a whale emoji, which means that she and Izzy – Clary’s girlfriend – would be busy doing some _stuff_ and Harry’s not allowed to interrupt.

He groans internally, frustrated that he has nowhere to go. He can’t go to a café and spend on an overpriced cup of coffee when Clary has a lovely coffee brewer at home, that’ll be totally free and would taste like Starbucks.

Today just couldn’t get any worse.

First Zayn Malik ignores him – maybe he should delete Zayn’s blog from his history so he doesn’t watch his video blogs. One less view for Zayn. Not going to kill the man’s popularity stats. Maybe Harry should make a petition among his fellow stars to endorse to their fans not to watch Zayn’s documentaries.

He smiles wickedly at the idea. And sighs in defeat because his idea could be misunderstood for racism when it’s Zayn’s personality that he loathes and not the golden – gorgeous – colour of his skin.

But more importantly, at the moment he has no where to go which is ironic because he’s in New York City.

Harry finds himself at the courtyard of the hotel, sitting down near the stairs that leads to the ballroom where a quiet brunch is happening by some of New York’s famous moguls; he can hear their chitchats and fake laughs with their stupid rich acquaintances. He kicks an innocent stray pebble because he can, and because he’s angry that they’re spending fucking thousands of dollars on farce bonds when they stab each other in the back.

Maybe he can stay here for a while and not bother with anything else. But then he stares at his worn-out boots and thinks that he ought to buy a new pair. But he doesn’t have the luxury for a new pair. Maybe he can wear his worn-out black converse in the summer so his boots can survive till winter.

He arranges his man-bun (as Clary likes to call it mockingly) on top of his head and thinks of other shows he can audition. But he shoos away the thoughts because he wants _this_ movie too much and so bad. And it’s only 16% because of Zayn – well 14.78% reason now cos Zayn’s points are slowly depreciating with his arsehole attitude.

‘Zayn.’ The name makes Harry turn as well, as if his own name has been called.

He’s peeking at the pair – feather-haired man and Zayn Malik – at the other end of the bottom stairs with cigarettes on their lips; both of them on black tees, skinny denim jeans, and boots. They look like models instead of movie directors.

And for a second Harry’s not sure why he’s hiding.

‘Hey,’ the other man soothes. ‘Talk to me.’ There’s no warm action to accompany his worried tone but Harry knows that the man means well towards Zayn.

Why is he eavesdropping again?

Well, technically, he wasn’t eavesdropping eleven seconds ago, but now he is because he’s already feeling it in his gut that he’s hearing and seeing things he’s not suppose to.

‘What’s got you all pissy anyway?’ the man asks after puffing a cloud of smoke in the air.

Zayn blows his own smoke first before answering, ‘That Melissa’s not considering Aaron Johnson.’

‘Aaron _Taylor_ -Johnson,’ the man corrects, lips twitching in a smile.

‘Fuck off, Louis.’ Zayn sounds annoyed, but the man – Louis – doesn’t look offended.

‘He’s married to that old bird, ya know?’ Louis chirps, pleased when Zayn glares at him.

Zayn puffs out another mist of smoke. ‘She’s irrelevant.’ Louis raises an eyebrow at him. ‘She fucking directed _50 Shades of Grey_.’

‘Jamie Dorman was fucking fit in that movie,’ Louis defends, for the sake of having to fight with Zayn. Harry’s not sure how the two men’s dynamic works.

Malik rolls his eyes at his friend. ‘She should have just ended her directing career after accepting _that_ offer.’ He hollows his cheek on his cigarette and inhales. He exhales it immediately. ‘A fucking misogynistic film.’

‘Is that the reason why you didn’t accept the offer?’ Louis teases.

Zayn smirks. ‘As if, I’ll ever,’ he replies. ‘I wouldn’t even touch one mile of those white-people-Nicholas-Sparks film.’

‘That’s because you’re a pretentious little shit,’ Louis points out. And Harry agrees silently and adds that Zayn’s a twat on top of that too.

‘Imagine what my family would say if I whitewash meself,’ he comments. ‘My aunties would never let me eat their delicious peppery chicken and _palak gosht_ on Eid. And I’d rather not accept Nicholas’ money than lose the opportunity to eat another _qeema kachori_.’

‘Maybe you should find yourself a nice girl to cook you all of these amazing foods,’ Louis suggests.

Zayn groans – Harry finds it cute and sexy at the same time and he shouldn’t because he should be annoyed at Zayn for neglecting his existence. ‘Now you’re sounding like my aunties whenever I go home for the hols.’ He sighs. ‘Also that’s a very sexist thing to say.’ He kills his remaining cigarette at the cover of the bin and throws the filter inside. ‘And my daddi’s already asking when she’s going to meet her great-grandkids. I don’t even know why she’s always asking me when Don’s the eldest.’

‘Well, Doniya needs to get a dowry first,’ Louis says.

Zayn shakes his head at his friend with a smile like Louis a big idiot. ‘We live in fucking London, not in Pakistan.’

‘But shouldn’t traditions be kept?’ Louis asks curiously.

Zayn thinks before speaking, ‘And traditions aren’t meant to be sexist too.’

Louis leans on the railing and throws his cigarette bum at the bin as well. ‘You sound like a Muslim rebel.’

Zayn just smiles. ‘I’m trying to be a good person that happens to be Muslim as well.’

‘I don’t get you,’ Louis says.

‘That’s because you’re an idiot,’ he replies with a chuckle.

‘And you’re the same cos we’re birds of the same feather, mate.’ He winks at Zayn.

Again, Harry questions why he’s eavesdropping; though he hasn’t regretted it. Now, he knows that Zayn’s not so keen to him at all. And he plans on changing Zayn’s mind.

**

When Zayn arrives to his Tribeca penthouse, he’s knackered. He thinks he might need two weeks worth of sleep after reading the final script for his new film: _A Heart on Loan_.

He checks his watch and it tells him that it’s 1:17 in the morning. That means it’s 6am in UK and it’s too late to call his mum. They’re already busy in the kitchen for the morning batch of customers at their small family desi restaurant. It’s like a diner in American term; though their place has a homier atmosphere to it.

He checks the candidates for Tyler’s role once again. And so far the bloke named Harry Styles is everyone’s favourite – well, everyone else except Zayn. He finds Harry’s face familiar and his intuition tells him that Harry’s all looks and no brain.

But Melissa insists that Harry’s perfect for the role, fresh face and an Emmy nominee. Zayn trusts Melissa, knows that this is the woman’s forte and she’s rather excellent with it.

Hopefully, whoever is this Harry kid is – he’s only five years older than Harry, but his mum had always said he’d been born middle age – will be great. And to set his heart assure he Googles Harry.

IMDb gives him Harry’s whole Hollywood career; from his first role when Harry was seventeen to his current one. Harry’s been nominated for Best-Supporting Actor when he was twenty-two, for a true-to-life military story of World War II about two brothers; Harry acted along side James McAvoy and took directing commands from Danny Boyle, that explains why Harry got the nomination.

It may sound harsh to think that Harry only got his nomination for working alongside talented people, but what else does Zayn know about this novice actor anyway except that most of his career he plays heartthrob-highs-school roles? Or maybe Zayn really is a bigger pretentious fucker than Louis had assumed.

And because he needs to investigate further into Harry’s ability, Zayn proceeds to watch Harry’s film that got him the nomination.

**

**Blame the Summer Heat**

**June**

Harry remembers the day, it was a Tuesday, he’s thinking of going for a brunch and memorising the rest of his script for the next season of ABC Family’s TV drama: _Social Casualty_. It’s almost like _The Internship_ meets _Jane by Design_ meets _Gossip Girl_ meets _The Carrie Diaries_.

Filming starts at the end of June according to Hannah, who already has a ticket for him back to LA. And Harry’s not ready for the expensive lifestyle in the city of lost angels. He needs to rent a flat that should probably be close to studio, he can’t live on his trailer truck anymore. Then he needs to rent a car to get around LA.

There’s just so much money needed on living in LA. He’s head aches.

He really needs a new movie because his TV series paycheck is no longer cutting it for his family needs. He’s looking at the calendar posted on his wall with lots of scribbles – bills and mortgages and tuition fees to pay – when Hannah’s call startles him.

Phone calls always startle Harry. He already diagnosed himself with Phone Ringtone Anxiety.

‘Hello?’ he says.

 _‘You have the part!’_ the older woman squeals on the other end.

Harry’s brain fluctuates. He’s not processing anything. He won’t let himself hope that Hannah’s meaning the same thing that he has in mind because he doesn’t enjoy disappointment. It can’t be real, is what he thinks first.

 _‘Harry?’_ Hannah calls. _‘You still there?’_ There’s a pause. _‘You’ve got a movie contract!’_

He’s blanketed with emotions: joy, relief, excitement, nervousness. He pinches himself just to be sure. This is it, this is his big break – the one that the war film didn’t pave way to because he only got nominated, he didn’t win and no one really remembers second best.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ he tells Hannah honestly.

The woman on the other end laughs. _‘A thank you would suffice.’_

Harry blinks thrice, still incredulous. ‘I couldn’t have done this without you, Hannah.’ He should send her a basket of flowers. ‘Thank you so, so, so much.’

 _‘That’s sweet, love.’_ He can hear her smile. _‘But you did most of the job.’_ He wants to argue but holds his tongue. _‘Congratulations again!’_

‘Thanks, Han.’ His problematic egoistical arse doesn’t deserve her. How did he get so lucky?

 _‘The signing is in two weeks,’_ she announces – now sounding like her profession than the usual condescending older sister. _‘And after that the script reading will follow by the third week of June till the end of the month.’_

And as Hannah drawls on his schedule, Harry plots away as he thinks of ways to make hazel eyes go softer.

**

It’s day three of the script reading and Harry’s already half in love – figuratively – with Freida Pinto. She’s a talented actress and he admires her ever since _Slumdog Millionaire_. She’s easy to work with and they do have a chemistry together.

Freida even laughs at his lame jokes and doesn’t stare too much at his wornout Converse. She’s wonderful.

Then there’s the amazing Sridevi Kapoor who plays Freida’s mother in the movie. She’s a great baker and gives Harry free cookies since Day One of the script reading. Her goodies make him  miss his mum’s pastries. She’s sweet and acts like a real mother on set.

While Sendhil Ramamurthy, his on-screen competition, is too gorgeous to be true that if he and Zayn stands next to each other Harry swears they could set everything on fire with how fit they look. He almost wants to question his own existence and how is he the same specie as them both ethereal-looking human beings.

Harry’s already been invited to dinner at the Ramamurthy household in London by the second day. And he’s thrilled to meet Halina and Alex, Sendhil’s children.

Anupam Kher plays Freida’s father; he’s a wise actor on set and in real life with his experience in the industry and life itself. Harry’s learning a lot from Anupam’s life story and the culture of India in general. Sometimes he wonders if this is how his father should have been, telling him stories about his boyhood and the peculiar jobs he got to help his grandparents earn money.

He doesn’t dwell on the _what if_ ’s. He takes whatever wisdom he can from Mr. Kher and enjoys the moment with all the cast and crew.

Because Harry’s a charming bastard, he makes friends with his co-stars quickly. His only hell is the director himself, Zayn fucking Malik, who seems to be making sure that Harry’s life on set becomes an epitome of a _Nightmare At Elm Street_.

‘I don’t like the speed of your voice,’ Zayn tells him on the first day when they’re doing Scene No. 5. It stops Harry midway his reading of his lines. ‘It’s not a drawl. You’re suppose to sound sure and confident, not like you’re dying from cancer.’

Zayn’s not screaming but he’s words aren’t sugar coated either. No, his words are sharp and piercing, imitating cold water from the river during winter. Because that’s how Zayn is with Harry, he’s frigid. Even his old bored stares now metamorphosis into icy ones that makes Harry cringe.

But of course, Harry’s not a quitter. His real life and this industry he’s working in has already moulded him with thick skin. Plus, if he gives up now how will he be able to provide for his family.

He loves a challenge. And he’s already set it on stones to make Zayn fall in love with him – his acting. He can do it, of course; he’s Harry fucking Styles.

**

‘Louis,’ Zayn calls for his best friend not even looking up from the paper he’s got on his clipboard.

‘Yeah?’ comes the blue-eyed man’s reply.

‘Double check the actors’ sched, yeah?’ he says, still shuffling with the files he has at hand. ‘And triple check the location.’

‘But that’s the Location Manager’s job,’ Louis complains – typical him.

Zayn looks up to roll his eyes at his 1st AD slash best friend. He wants to point out – just to annoy Louis – that it’s Louis’ job to make sure the entire film team is on schedule which includes making sure that everyone’s doing their job.

‘And a little birdy told me you’re still trying to woo Aaron _Taylor_ -Johnson,’ he states suspiciously and crosses his arms as if a mother catching her son with one hand inside the cookie jar. ‘Tell me it’s not true.’

There’s no point denying it, of course. Zayn knows.

‘It’s nothing,’ he says nonchalantly, shrugging a bit.

Louis’ incredulous and making silent judgment with his eyes on him, Zayn can tell. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the contract had been signed and Harry Styles is playing lead.’

Zayn’s been at the script reading so he’s well-aware that Harry’s settled into the role. But that doesn’t stop him from trying in getting his way.

‘I don’t like this crazed look you have in your eyes,’ Louis tells him. ‘What the fuck are you even planning?’

He grins at his best friend. He can scheme too if he wants.

‘Look, I like Styles, he’s funny and nice,’ Louis informs. ‘And I don’t want to be behind schedule if you do something stupid like pushing him so he quits.’

A frown forms at his face because he didn’t know he’s that easy to read. But then it’s Louis. They’ve been friends for a decade now; they can finish each other’s sentences and can memorise the other like the back of their hands.

‘Christ! You’re a fucking knob,’ Louis spats, the fact dawning to him completely. ‘Is that what you’re really doing?’ he accuses. ‘Making Styles want to quit?’

He doesn’t answer the rhetoric question.

‘So, all those telling him off is not valid at all.’ His best friend glares at him. ‘That’s fucking mature, Zed,’ he says sarcastically. ‘And all because you think he won’t pull off the role? That’s fucking unfair for him.’

Louis is a lot of things, Zayn’s aware. But once Louis points out bullshit, it’s a real deal. And right now, Louis has a valid reason.

‘Listen to me, arsehole.’ Louis has both hands on his hips, glaring Zayn down. When Louis’ indicating a fault, he makes sure to use as many cuss words as he can about you. ‘You have to get your head out of your arse because you’re being a total twat, and give Styles a chance before being prejudice about him.’ His eyes soften as if he feels bad for Zayn’s bias attitude. ‘He’s trying too, you know? So, give him a fair chance.’

**

Reluctantly, Zayn follows Louis’ mage advice and gives Harry a chance. He doesn’t pick on Styles as he had for the last three days. He keeps a close eye on him during script reading and the breaks inbetween though as if he’s waiting for the man to make a mistake and slap it on Louis’ smug face.

He doesn’t completely trust Harry. He’s got high expectation for this film and it’ll be a great depression all over again if Harry doesn’t reach Zayn’s standards. He knows better of  the gore of disappointments.

When he’s not pushing Harry to quit, Zayn notices that the curly haired man is actually very good at being Tyler. And during breaks he sees Harry talking to his co-stars or the other crew present with excessive politeness.

He thinks it’s all act. But Harry’s even nice to him despite him being frigid and unbearable. Zayn wants to believe that Harry’s a saint in the past life for being a martyr.

‘Do you want to hear a joke?’ Harry asks from across him at the conference table. They’re the only one around because everyone went home early after the last day of the script reading.

He doesn’t answer, just stares at the other person incredulously. Why is Harry talking to him so casually? To begin with, they’re not friends and he’s made sure the green eyed man doesn’t assume that they are.

But then, Harry seems to be the person who thinks everyone he meets is a friend or a potential pal.

He barely looks up from his files, but sees Harry licking his lips in slow motion that holds him. He’s not sure if he reads it wrong – but is the man trying to flirt with him because the thing he said before sounds like a bad pick-up line.

‘What did the guy octopus said to his lover?’ Harry smiles, enjoying his own joke.

He badly wants to role his eyes. Okay, this maybe a line – a terrible one at that.

‘Let’s go hand and hand and hand and hand and hand,’ he’s grinning as he speaks and counting with his fingers, ‘and hand and hand and hand.’

Surely, Harry giggles at his own tale.

‘Because they have eight tentacles,’ he explains when he sees Zayn’s blank face. He’s chuckling now as if that was the best joke he’s ever heard.

‘Aren’t you suppose to be heading home?’ Zayn asks bluntly. He’s arranging his documents and decides to do it at home where it’ll be Harry-free. Louis only told him to give Harry a chance at the role, not a chance in real life.

For a second Harry frowns a bit but his smile easily creeps back in place. ‘I am,’ he answers. ‘I was just waiting for you.’ He winks. ‘Don’t want you to get lonely all by yourself, yeah?’

He wasn’t able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. ‘I’m fine.’

Harry licks his lips again and Zayn can’t help but stare once more.

Zayn has perfect vision and he can’t deny the fact that Harry’s good looking. And he also can’t rebuff the fact that Harry’s a talented little shit. But he won’t admit these things outloud, not even to save his life.

Maybe he should stop finding fault on Harry Styles so he won’t notice the man’s good qualities. It’s unnerving to have someone handsome and at the same time good.

And true to his word, Harry doesn’t leave till Zayn does too.

‘You don’t have to prove to me anything,’ he tells Harry as they walk outside in the loud streets of New York. It’s dark out and the air is dry thanks to the summer heat.

‘I’m not proving anything,’ Harry replies, putting his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. Zayn’s not sure why Harry had been using that well-worn jacket for so long now. ‘I just feel like you needed company.’

‘I don’t,’ he snaps because his temper is his best defence. If people finds him unlikable maybe they’ll back off and stop being fake-nice to him just because they need something from him.

Harry’s not shaken at all. ‘You looked like you did,’ he insists, stares at his wornout Converse that Zayn doesn’t miss on noting. ‘You always go home with Louis but he went to check some stuff for the film and…’

He lets it hang.

‘I’m not lonely,’ he spats out.

‘I didn’t say you were.’ He stares at the passing cars. ‘I just figure that maybe you’re exhausted on hating me and telling everyone off and that you needed some positive vibes, thus, the joke.’ He smiles again.

Zayn’s that obvious on loathing Harry then? But what he can’t believe is Harry using _thus_ in real life – putting it on a sentence. He smiled at how weird this giant giraffe is.

‘You look better when you smile,’ the curly haired man point out.

He fixes his face back to normal. He’s not going to make Harry assume that he’s warming up to him. They’re co-workers, not friends who’s about to share their dreams and aspirations since they were ten.

He’s not going to be tricked again. People are only nice because they have hidden agendas. And in the long run, Harry’s not going to be different.

‘Good night, Zayn,’ Harry says.

It’s the first time that Harry’s called him using his first name. It rings in his ear.

Harry walks away, not hailing a cab or calling Uber.

‘Where are you going?’ he can’t help but ask because Harry’s a mystery.

The man turns. ‘Subway station.’ Harry gives him a small wave and continue his pace.

He stares at Harry’s retreating figure with hundreds of questions forming in his head. Why does Harry take the subway? How often does he take the subway since Zayn has realised that he’d never seen Harry get out of a car or cab when he reports for work.

Harry Styles is now a mystery Zayn’s not suppose to uncover but he’s itching to.

**

The champagne keeps pouring and the crowd doesn’t even lessen as the night progresses further into early morning. There are more laughters and chitchats as people lossen up, thanks to the magic of alcohol.

There are well-known people from the industry – people with connections – and Harry should be in the middle of it all and selling himself like he always does. He should be putting his best smile as the glitz and glamour surrounds him because it’s a good opportunity to scout for next projects.  

Unfortunately, he has a plane to catch at 5am. The spontaneous party wasn’t part of his schedule which was to go back to LA. And to be honest, plane tickets are expensive – especially that he’s flying first class to avoid any disturbance. So, he really has to go.

Besides, he might not admit it outloud but Harry’s awkward at parties.

His hands are empty, no champagne flute or those Midtown drinks that Kimberly Hotel offered. Louis Tomlinson bumps into him twice and told him that Pomika is going to save the world of vodka. But Harry doubts it – the man completely gone to the embrace of liquor. Harry’s almost disgusted if only Louis wasn’t so adorable while drunk.

But Harry doesn’t regret not drinking. He regrets not having to do with his hands as they shake when he tries to play a role he has in his head. Because Harry’s always playing a role – he’s either the charming Harry Styles, the good son Harry Styles, the talented Harry Styles.

It’s hard to choose what Harry Styles to mould into when a drunk Zayn Malik barges into his lift when he leaves.

‘Goin’ somewhere, Mr. Styles?’ Zayn asks – each syllable thick with his accent that sends a shiver down Harry’s spine. He struts inside the lift like he owns the damn thing and Harry can smell the liquor off of him.

He doesn’t respond. It’s different with only them like this in a closed space. It’s choking all his confidence to flirt back or do a sarcastic retort.

The door of the lift closes with a _ding_ sound that Zayn giggles to.

God! Zayn is being adorable. The whole universe is testing Harry’s will right now. It’s like his life is suddenly mirroring _A Series of Unfortunate Events_.

Harry needs to get out of here. Maybe take another lift.

But Harry’s in a trance of staring at Zayn with honest fascination like an astonomer glimpsing at the stars under their telescope. What would Harry give to unpeel Zayn and study every crevices of his mind.

Finally, after glaring at the buttons – and before Harry can jump out of the door, because being with Zayn in a small room is a mistake – Zayn pushes the lobby button and their lift moves.

Harry’s guard is up, watching any sudden movements from Zayn like the man would attack him or something. Because Harry knows a bit about Zayn – knows Zayn the director on set, Zayn as Louis’ best friend, Zayn looking beautiful in a suit as he talks to people he respects and know in the industry – but Harry doesn’t know Drunk Zayn.

And he’s not sure just how drunk Zayn is and how much he’ll remember in the morning if Harry does something stupid. He could get himself fired for silly reasons.

How did Zayn know he was leaving? Harry wants to ask but didn’t.

He steps further away from Zayn, making sure that they won’t accidentally touch because that’s all Harry ever wanted ever since he’s seen Zayn in those black Gucci blazer over a white V-neck shirt that shows off the bloke’s chest tattoo. And he probably shouldn’t think about those inked lips on Zayn’s chest or else he might get tempted to attach his own mouth on it just to see if he matches the lips.

He really shouldn’t be thinking about it.

But before Harry can collect his thoughts, Zayn’s spinnning around and taking whatever is left of Harry’s personal space.

‘Can’t believe you’re such a knob,’ Zayn accuses but the words drag with his liquored tongue. Harry can clearly smell the alcohol from him. ‘I even took that shot for you.’ He glares with a pout but it’s softer than his regular smoulder – Zayn’s face is _always_ on smoulder mode.

‘I didn’t ask you too,’ Harry retorts. He’s trying to maintain eye contact instead of looking down on where Zayn’s lips are pert and pinkish and kissable.

Jesus Christ! Who even has lips like sin?

Zayn’s a clingy and soft drunk – Harry surmises. He leans his forehead on Harry’s clavicle as if it’s too heavy for his neck carry. It’s suddenly too warm inside the well ventilated lift.

‘I know,’ Zayn mutters in a small voice that Harry had never heard of before because Zayn’s always loud and screaming at people and telling Harry off and yelling _CUT!_

So, this is different.

‘But you never drink alcoholic stuff,’ Zayn continues and removes his head from Harry’s chest.

Zayn’s eyes are softer like he’s worried and Harry wishes to count Zayn’s eye lashes just so his mind is doing something else than give meaning behind the warmth in the other man’s eyes.

‘You only take water or fruit juice or coffee from the snacks table on set,’ Zayn continues, eyes drooping as if it’s a struggle to keep them open.

And Harry has to look away because it’s too much. How did Zayn notice? Since when had Zayn noticed? Why does Zayn even care? Zayn’s just suppose to be mean and pretentious and a proper bane to Harry’s existence, not this Zayn who concerns himself about Harry and takes Harry’s peer-pressured shot from the executive producers.

Zayn leans his head on Harry’s chest again that Harry’s sure the florals of his black shirt will imprint on Zayn’s forehead.

‘You’re so stupid,’ Zayn mutters, almost incoherent.

Suddenly, he’s deadweight and Harry nearly fails to catch him.

One of his arm wounds around Zayn’s waist to support the unconscious director. Another weaves under the man’s shoulder. He realises that Zayn’s so tiny, he can fit the bloke in his arms.

Zayn’s half-dead to the world and he looks fragile and warm. Zayn’s never the approachable type; he’s not soft either. No, the man takes half of the room his in, with his gorgeous face and arrogance.

This is literally different. Harry doesn’t know what to do.

Maybe he should call Louis. Or leave Zayn in the lift because Zayn’s an arsehole who does nothing on set but tell Harry off and makes him feel inferior and insecure.

He should probably call Louis. But then Louis’ plastered himself. And Zayn’s looking vulnerable like he needs to be protected. Unfortunately, Harry always have a soft spot for weak people – though technically Zayn’s not feeble, but at the moment he is.

He cusses silently.

**

Zayn wakes up with a massive hangover that seems to occupy not only his head but the rest of his body. He aches everywhere as if he’d been carried to this bed violently.

This bed… is unfamiliar!

He jolts up swiftly that his vision doubles and everything swirls. He thinks his brain his going to leak out of his ears at the sudden vertigo that hits him. Shit!

Where the fuck is he? What happened last night? Who’s room is this? How much did he drink?

Phone! He scrambles weakly for his phone every move is torture, especially with the sudden light of the sun blinding him a little and adding to his blossoming headache.

His phone is still inside his pocket that means he’s not been abducted last night. He shivers at other _what could have been_ in his head.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How could he be so careless?

Zayn’s always careful, always planning and organising and making sure that things don’t get out of hand. He’s an effing director for crying outloud. If he can’t control his own life, how is he suppose to get a movie done?

God! He wants to puke and crawl his eyes out. Hangovers are the worst with regret and disapppointment to butter it up.

Why didn’t Louis pick him up from his disaster last night?

He dials Tomlinson’s number. And wants to scream bloody murder at his so-called best friend who abandoned him.

As it rings, Zayn takes his environment in. The room is tiny – his bathroom looks bigger than this mouse box. There’s a table near the window with clutters all over it. The single furniture is the wooden closet near the door. And he doesn’t appreciate the scattered clothes on the floor along with a pair of worn-out Converse.

Another ring passes and Zayn’s disgusted by the state of the room he’s in. It looks like it belongs to a university student who doesn’t have cleaning skills. But he hasn’t seen any book to prove this theory. There are old VCRs and Blu-Ray CDs littered all over the place.

By the fourth ring he’s frustrated and angry that doesn’t help his aching head. And he’s going to delete Louis’ name from his will.

He can’t help but notice the massive calender hanging across him on the wall. It has lots of marking and bills and receipts. It’s close to a police wall of investigation on a crime.

The fifth ring comes and Zayn’s stripping Louis’ claim as godfather on his first child.

And just when Zayn’s thinking of ways to get back to Louis, the door opens and a pretty pale girl with fiery hair peeps inside.

‘Oh great, you’re awake.’ She smiles sweetly and widens the gap in the door. ‘Just in time for breakfast.’ She smiles again.

Zayn stares and blinks twice. He tries to think if he knows her from somewhere but her face isn’t familiar at all. She has a vibe of the girl-next-door type that makes him trust her a bit.

‘Harry said to make sure you’re _fed_ before you’re _release_ ,’ says the black haired girl who appears next to the ginger. This girl is sexy and her skin colour is the same as Zayn but he can tell that she’s a Latina.

Harry? That gets Zayn even more confuse. The memory from last night hasn’t registered to his conscious mind yet.

Harry took him home last night, is all he could process with the hangover still swimming in his nerves. He was with Harry last night.

How did he end up with Harry?

The pale one elbows the other softly. ‘Izzy,’ she scolds, pulling Zayn away from his own muddy thoughts.

‘What?’ Izzy’s looking at the other girl. ‘That was his term.’ She smiles wickedly. ‘It’s like from that movie. _Release the Kraken._ ’ She laughs.

The ginger rolls her eyes fondly. ‘I think I’m the only polite person in this apartment.’ She turns to Zayn again. ‘So… about that breakfast?’

**

Breakfast is waffles, eggs and toast, and two other people that Zayn had known as: Alfredo the future dentist and Dominique the editorial model.

Alfredo’s a sarcastic guy who makes snark comments and wears glasses. He’s got dark brown hair and super white teeth. He goes to NYU like Clary – the ginger lady – only that she’s in Tisch for Fine Arts and he’s on his last year at Dentistry.

The other guy who loves to argue with Alfredo is blonde and graceful – that’s the first thing that Zayn notices as he moves around the tiny kitchen-dinning room because besides being good looking he’s also a taleneted cook.

And when Zayn’s certain that Izzy’s – Isabelle – a model like Dom, she’s actually a Kindergarten teacher.

‘All five of you live here?’ Zayn asks curiously and measures that the whole flat doesn’t even come close to half the size of his penthouse and it houses five people.

‘I technically live in Brooklyn with my parents,’ Izzy informs and pours some syrup on her waffles. ‘But I usually crash here because my mum’s a bitch.’ She shrugs and closes the lid of the bottle. She sucks from her finger the remnants of the syrup.

‘And Harry?’ he asks because this all sounds surreal. Why does Harry live in this closed-off space mirroring a broke university kid? Harry can surely afford a nicer flat on his own somewhere in Soho or Tribeca.

‘He pays his part of the rent every month even when he’s in L.A.’ Clary answers, putting butter on her toast. ‘Which is really sweet of him despite we tell him not to.’

‘Are we talking about the same Harry?’ He’s incredulous about this fact. It just won’t sink in. ‘Because I’m asking about Harry Styles.’

All four nods at him.

It bewilders Zayn even more.

‘Do you know what he does for a living?’ he prompts because this reflects a badly made sitcom. That or he’s in _Punk’d_ right now and he’s about to meet Ashton Kutcher in flesh.

‘He’s an actor,’ Alfredo answers with an eye roll that points out Zayn’s idiocy on the matter of Harry’s occupation.

‘And your making a movie together,’ Dom confirms, pointing his fork at him with a piece of waffle. ‘Plus, he won’t shut up about you.’ He dips his waffle on the syrup that’s on his plate. ‘It’s an awful phase because he’s made us watch three of your films.’ He grimaces but with no heat.

‘That’s because you cried at all three of them.’ Izzy smirks.

‘I did not,’ Dom says loudly, dignified.

Clary giggles, while Alfredo offers a wide smile.

‘You kinda did, love,’ Alfredo teases and chuckles at Dom’s horrified expression lacing with betrayal. ‘All over my favourite sweat shirt.’

Dom glares at them all. ‘Why do you make such sad stories anyways?’ he demands at Zayn. It resonates a compliment , in Zayn’s opinion.

Zayn shrugs. ‘I don’t write them. I _direct_ them.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ Clary tells him, smiling genuinely. ‘I love the angles and the way you narrate the story in film.’

And she doesn’t miss a beat into going back in the conversation about embarrassing Dom some more. But Zayn’s not listening, taken aback as he stares at Clary and the rest of Harry’s flatmates – they may be Harry’s friends actually.

‘Thanks,’ he says a little too late and it was too low for them to hear.

They’re talking about the best films they’ve watched and the worst. They include Zayn as if this is what they do every morning – like Zayn’s part of their squad.

But the thought of being acknowledge is what drills into Zayn’s mind. The way Clary compliments him purely for his work and talent and not because she may want to ask a favour. He knows it’s cliché – only reads it in books and seen it on movies – how someone like him feels normal around people like Clary and her friends.

He wants this normalcy – despite knowing that normal is an illusion. He hungers for this sort of conversation where he doesn’t need to watch his back.

Maybe it’s thick of him to assume that almost everyone is out to get him. But _almost_ everyone who comes to him are either there to criticise badly or to use him for their own personal advantages. It’s sickening.

And he tries not to think of the mistake he could have taken when he was twenty-three, thinking that life is all bed of roses.

Life isn’t a movie where you can direct a happy ending. Nope, life is a nonstop film where there are no happy endings, all you have are moments. Your moments can either be sad or happy – it all depends to you.

Despite his desire to find out why Harry Styles is living in a small flat with three other people, he indulges himself in the company of four strangers that doesn’t see him as Zayn Malik the Director but simply as Zayn Malik. Because after this – this breakfast – his life will resume to how it’s suppose to be: planning, organising, meeting people, and endless acting of Director Zayn Malik.

**

**Leaves and My Heart are Things that Fall**

**October**

Zayn’s a great director, but he’s also frigid more often than not. And he’s not going to deny it. He’s learned to be cold because having feeling in his line of work won’t get anything done. Most of the time he doesn’t yell, he usually scolds people by being their bad conscience.

He can, honest to god, tell someone they’re making everyone’s life mesirable on set with a sweet voice and syrupy smile. He indirectly points out someone’s failure and makes sure they see how useless they are by making the same mistake twice and how everyone is disappointed and so is the people they care about and the rest of humanity.

He knows it’s a cruel thing to do, especially when he say it in a saintly manner that presents him as the best person to make judgment on the person’s worth. He doesn’t enjoy such situations but it has become a habit already that sometimes he’s not conscious he’s doing it.

Only Louis will call him out and has the courage to pinpoint that Zayn’s being a massive twat.

But it’s not like it’s been set in stone that Zayn’s going to be forever harsh and indifferent. There’s no such thing as forever. The only thing that’s eternal is change – change that’s going to be constant and timeless.

Change comes in the form of curiousity.

Curiousity for Harry Edward Styles.

Three months ago, in the middle of summer, Zayn had became obsess with Harry Styles and the way the man is thinking and his way of living after discovering Harry’s abode in New York.

And maybe Zayn’s busy puzzling film locations, background musics, fashion catalogues, etc. but somehow he has made time to Google Harry Styles’ life. There were a lot of searches and rumours and whatnots about Harry Styles. He stores every clue he has of the man and maybe he can use them to unlock the mystery.

To be honest, he’s not sure why he’s obsessing over Harry. He can’t seem to shrug the idea of this other Harry Styles that’s not so confident and charming – like the one he sees on set. He’s always been aware of Harry’s threadbare clothes and wornout shoes but doesn’t question it before. Not until he learned that Harry’s living like a broke university students.

Where does all Harry’s money go? Harry doesn’t resembles someone who has a drug problem as he’s always drinking kale smoothie – Louis announces twice – and he doesn’t even drink any alcohol.

‘Cut!’ he yells.

They’re at four storey townhouse in Lennox Hill. They’ve rented the whole place for a week from the real estate as it shall be Freida’s family home in the movie. It’s a quaint place with a garden and four bedrooms. It has the perfect ambience of a warm home.

‘Prepare for scene thirty-five in fifteen.’ The crews move to around – make-up artists retouching Freida and Harry’s faces, stylists arranging the next clothes for the said scene, Louis viewing the recorded video, boom operator lowering his instrument, cameramen rechecking their equipments and a whole lot more.

It’s late afternoon and everyone’s exhausted. Zayn’s knackered but they need to finish the scene before midnight so they can all retire and call it a day. They need to follow their schedule or else he gets a telling off from the executive producers. And Zayn has no patient – plus time – for rubbish complains.

He can feel the strain almost on everyone. They all want to go home because they’ve been working since the crack of dawn.

Zayn should really be reviewing the scene but he knows it’s good, lets Louis do his job for a while because Louis loves acting up.

His eyes follow Harry as he removes his coat talking happily to Stella – the stylist. Harry’s making her laugh and Zayn almost wants to eavesdrop on their conversation as to what could be so funny that she’s laughing so hard at this draining hour.

Agatha – one of the interns – is holding a tray of coffee. She’s been with them since morning too and the strain of the work gets into her that she’s wobbling.

Zayn wants to scream at her to be careful lest she waters important equipment. His temper with the exhaustion overpowering him to be more ruthless than he already is.

‘It’s okay, love,’ Harry assures, taking the tray from her clumsy hands. ‘I got it.’ He smiles at her – the ones that can sell ice to eskimos.

She looks flustered and shock and relieved at the same time. She’s about to protest, remembering that Harry’s the main star and it’s _her_ job to distribute coffee to the weary crew members.

‘I got it,’ Harry repeats with a wink and a smile that  – Zayn can only assume – have stopped Agatha’s heart from beating for a second or two. Harry’s just that sort of person who people fall half in love with after they meet him because he’s nice and sweet.

Harry takes it upon himself to disseminate the coffee to the rest of the crew. Zayn watches as Harry’s magic spread around. The man’s all smiling while giving the steamy drink and making short conversation with each person in the process.

Each of the crew who receives Harry’s coffee acts as if it’s Jove’s nectar that they’re drinking. Zayn doesn’t miss to note that Harry knows everyone’s name and the way Harry’s chatting to them mimics someone who’s a long lost friend.

It’s too much to witness, in Zayn’s opinion. Too much interaction and too much congeniality for Zayn’s drained senses. He can’t look away though. Locked in this Harry he’s seeing – far different from the one he saved during that party at Kimberly when the executive producers pressured them to take shots for good luck.

Harry looked like a deer caught in the headlights that moment at the mention of drinking alcohol that Zayn took pity on him and downed the man’s shot instead – Black Rose as what Kevin, one of their boss has said.

Zayn knows he’ll probably do the same for Louis if his best friend were looking like he’s about to face a death sentence, because that’s how Harry mirrored that night. Green eyes colouring with anxiety that Zayn can’t ignore because he’s never seen the man appearing like that.

Why he always have soft spot for anxious eyes and shaking fingers is something Zayn can’t shrug off his system. He thinks it might be because he knows what if feels like to be scared, to be powerless.

And maybe because Zayn’s not sure as to why someone as headstrong as Harry is being vulnerable for the first time.

He looks away and heads to where Louis is, tucking away the memory of the party in his brain. The easy smiles he had witnessed from Harry Styles lingers a bit at the corners of his mind. And as he focuses on his job there’s something deep in his gut that stirs and he thinks it’s because he might be sick of Harry Styles’ charm.

**

 

Filming goes according to plan, sometimes they’re off schedule due to unevitable circumtances but they cope with the hurdles – Zayn tries to.

If his eyes linger a beat too long on Harry, nobody notices – only Louis, of fucking course. And if he speaks to Harry softly now, no one has called him on it. Everything just flows according to how it should be.

And Zayn continues to ignore the itch underneath his fingertips every time he accidentally touches Harry’s hand when he’s trying to direct the position that he wants his actors to be in.

Except there are things that he can’t runaway from.

‘This is stupid, innit?’ Harry states from across the lift. They’re both sat on the floor, waiting for the fire department to arrive and rescue them from being stuck in an elevator.

Zayn smiles a little because he agrees. The light is dim so he thinks Harry won’t see it.

‘I thought things like this only happen in movies,’ the man continues and yawns.

It’s probably almost 1 a.m. now and they’re at stuck at the 15th floor of the firm they’re filming in. And Harry looks warm and comfy in his huge threadbare knitted sweater. Maybe it’s the accident that they are in that makes Zayn want to sit next to Harry just so he doesn’t feel so alone at times like this.

‘Imagine if the ropes of the elevator break.’ Harry’s ignoring the fact that Zayn’s silent.

He glares at Harry. What if they both got jinxed through Harry’s wild and useless imagination alone. There’s a small probability that such scenario would occur, or Zayn wills to convince himself.

Harry chuckles. ‘Sorry.’ He doesn’t sound sorry at all but absolutely amused. ‘Are you scared of heights, director?’

He’s not going to have this conversation.

And in this darkness a blurry memory ignites in his mind. Harry may have been an annoying figure in his life at the moment but the man had always been cordial to him, up to the point of helping him when he was so drunk – a smaller part of his brain points out that Harry was the one who caused his hangover as well.

Still, he should at least show a little courtesy to what Harry had done for him.

‘Thank you,’ he blurts out of nowhere and Harry looks confuse. ‘Well, my memory is a bit vague but… last time… during the party at Kimberly… I remember getting on the lift with you.’ He pauses, not sure how he’s going to continue. He’s not good with this. ‘And the next morning… I… your friends were nice.’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’ Harry’s looking away, all trace of amusement gone on his face. There’s an edge on his voice too that Zayn’s never heard before like he’s embarrass and angry at the same time.

Harry pulls his knees closer – hugs them and leans his head on them. He looks so small that Zayn has no idea who this fragile Harry is with no easy smile to give and no charm to flaunt.

The night of the party goes back into his conscious mind when Harry’s all scared of taking that shot of liquor which should not be a big deal. Harry’s evasion and fear of alcoholic drinks only added to his mystery – an enigma that Zayn wants to uncover.

Maybe this is why he’s so drawn to Harry Styles – he’s pulled by the riddle surrounding the man’s life and personality. Who even is Harry Styles?

The silence is eerie and suddenly the space inside the lift is bigger than it should be with Harry closing off himself.

There’s a creaking sound that’s loud enough to make them both jump.

‘What was that?’ Harry anxiously scrambles to where Zayn is.

‘The fire department?’ Zayn’s heart is thumping loud with fear but he’s not going to panic. He’s going to remain calm and not jump into conclusion. And maybe it’s odd to be telling himself the adage: _believe none of what you heard and only half of what you see._ But it’s the only logistic wisdom he can grip unto without losing his cool.

There’s another creak and the lift shakes a little as the light inside blinks once and then another and after its third death it doesn’t turn back on again.

‘Oh my god!’ Harry’s voice is pitchy high. ‘We’re going to die.’

‘No, we’re not.’ Zayn’s not sure when they’ve held each other close that he can smell Harry’s vanilla shampoo. It’s almost comforting.

Another creak follows that has Harry shaking under Zayn’s grip.

‘Oh my god.’ Harry’s voice is hoarse and wet and so are his cheeks.

‘It’s okay.’ He draws soothing circles behind Harry’s back. He’s actually scared himself but someone needs to be the calm one between them both.

‘My mum’s going to get brokenhearted,’ the man cries. ‘No one’s going to pay off our debts and nana’s not going to get her chemo.’

Nothing makes sense with what Harry’s rambling right now, but Zayn doesn’t let the man go, continues to sooth him because this is the only thing he can do for Harry.

He and Harry may not have the best history, but he’s all Harry’s got at this moment. And Zayn may have a weakness for people who are in need. So, he lets Harry sob in his chest and whispers optimistic words.

‘Christopher and Joyce will never get to London soil and Rosa will have to work three jobs again to make ends meet,’ he continues in hysterics. ‘And Gemma’s never going to live her dreams and mum – my mum’s going to cry herself to sleep again.’

A loud creak echoes and Harry’s sobbing harder under Zayn’s arms.

‘Sshhh… everything’s going to be okay, I promise.’ He whispers on top of Harry’s hair.

This just can’t be their ends. He’s not a believer of miracle but right now he prays for one. It just can’t end like this – he still has a lot to do in life: support his family, become Louis’ best man at his wedding, father two daughters, tell Solenn that he’s forgiven him and admit to Harry Styles that he likes him.

Fuck! He likes Harry Styles. That’s what this is all about. This is why he’s so obsess.

He _likes_ Harry Styles.

He had heard his daddi said before how when she was in her youth and a near-death experience changed her life. She told them – her grandchildren – how in your last moment the important things are the ones you realise as your life flashes before you.

There’s another creak and the door of the lift suddenly opens. Zayn’s never been happy to see a fireman before.

**

Harry can only count the times he’s been embarrass that he wants to be buried alive. And after that another situation with Zayn in the lift, he clearly wants to dig up his own grave and not see the rest of the world anymore.

It was all too much for him in that moment – closed space, tension, and exhaustion.

God! He broke down like a baby.

He can’t even look at Zayn without feeling remorse for the hysterics he put the man through. Zayn acts like he doesn’t remember so Harry does the same. This is what they’re both good at, ignoring situations regarding each other.

He’s glad Zayn held him through his hysterics though. They’re always bad – his mum told him once.

Not a lot of things overwhelms him – not even the constant ringing of their phone at home and the loud knocking on the door with threatening screams – but when they do, they come in tidal waves. He’s happy the one that happened with Zayn didn’t involve hyperventilation. He doesn’t want to worry anyone so bloody much.

He can’t remember what shit he spat out on his hysterics but he’s hoping it’s not what he has in his memory.

But of course it comes back biting him in the arse in the long run.

‘I bumped into Zayn today,’ Clary tells him, she’s sketching on their table, her morning classes are done. It’s Harry’s day off so he’s hanging out at home, memorising his lines.

Ugh! The universe is still out to get him.

‘He asks about Joyce and Christopher,’ she continues casually, doesn’t notice that Harry’s eyes are saucer wide. ‘Then about your mum and nana and Gemma.’

His brain stops functioning, his heart on his throat. It’s real, what he prays not to be real. He’s tongue tumbles about his family while he was panicking in that lift.

‘Of course, I din’t tell him anything.’ She shrugs, continues to sketch.

Harry’s heart almost stops beating at the relief that washes over him. His secret is still safe.

But until when?

**

**Winter Froze Your Heart**

**January**

Harry knows it’s not fair to hate Zayn for learning things about him that he didn’t mean to.

And as much he’s thankful that Zayn’s not out there to get him anymore – caring for him a bit and not telling him off as often – he’s not comfortable if Zayn learns about his secrets: how the phone keeps on ringing, that Harry’s family is complicated.

If Zayn finds out about Harry’s past and present, the director will either pity him or want nothing to do with him. Both scenarios aches; not to be accepted and always be seen as someone who’s fragile.

Seriously, when did his life became a cliché of _Phantom of the Opera_ with all these secrets he has to hide.

Harry loathes the empty sympathy and the pitiful stares most of all. They don’t help at all. They only make everything else harder because now, he’s pressured to do better to ebb those stares.

Sometimes, when Zayn’s eyes linger a little longer on his clothes and shoes like the man’s trying to puzzle Harry, it unsettles him. It brings back a lot of old memories that Harry doesn’t live on anymore, but those gazes take him back and hinders him from moving on.

So, he needs to stay away because he’s not suppose to get caught with his act.

And with things strain between them again, especially that Harry’s not offering an olive branch to somehow balance them like before, Zayn’s back at being unbearable. Zayn pushes him like the first day of script reading, tells him off for the smallest reason.

‘What do you want?’ Zayn inquires when he strides inside his hotel suite at two in the morning. They have finished filming before midnight – much to Louis’ protest because they’re behind schedule.

‘For you to cut this bullshit,’ he spits out acidly, trying to ignore the fact that Zayn’s only wearing a black tanktop and jeans. His top reveals a lot of skin Harry had never seen before – tattoos that distracts him for a second.

Zayn looks taken aback, clearly not used to him being impolite.

‘And don’t deny it, Zayn,’ he continues angrily, his glare is murderous. ‘I don’t care if you’re doing this to me because you want Aaron _Taylor_ -Johnson, but please… please don’t include the rest of the crew.’

Again, he seems surprise. And this time it might be the drop about Aaron.

‘You’re making their lives miserable and their jobs difficult because you hold some sort of grudge against me,’ he deadpans. He sees the strain on the other crew as well when Zayn makes him repeat a scene over and over again because Zayn’s being an arsehole.

‘It’s not about you,’ Zayn denies. But Harry’s the actor here, and Zayn’s only a great director but not the best pretender.

He raises an eyebrow at the director, slapping at his face that he can see through the lies.

‘You kiss her wrong,’ the man insists, desperately hoping that Harry lets it go.

Harry just stares at him, challenging his reason because he can be stubborn too.

‘It’s not intense enough for the scene,’ Zayn argues.

He paces forward, crowding Zayn’s space. ‘Liar.’

The glare Zayn gives him is cute – almost – if only there’s not so much skin displayed for Harry to drool upon. How did he not noticed those tattoos before?

‘I’m not lying,’ Zayn defends, breathing hard, eyes darting to his lips. And Harry wonders what Zayn sees to leave the man stare at it for a beat too long.

His throat is dry and Zayn shouldn’t stare at him with those dark eyes that makes the temperature in the room rise. Or maybe that’s just Harry feeling it?

‘Tell me how do I kiss her,’ Harry challenges, waiting for Zayn to admit his lie. He needs to concentrate. He came here to get things right for him and the rest of the crew not to ogle at how Zayn looks at him or how Zayn looks right now.

‘Like this,’ Zayn says and takes his face in his hand and kisses him.

It takes half a second for Harry to response and kiss Zayn just as fiercely. Zayn quickly opens his mouth with his tongue as if he’s in search for something. But whatever it is, he knows he’s willing to give Zayn what he’s looking for.

He grips Zayn on the hip as he pulls him closer, wants to feel him everywhere. He needs Zayn’s body as proof that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. That this is real – not a hallucination from his earlier fantasies when he first met Zayn.

It’s intense and fast and heated. All those pent up frustrations with each other echoes in each kiss.

They’re both stubborn and no one wants to be the first to pull back so they bite and kiss and explore each others mouth like they have something to prove to the other.

Suddenly, Harry remembers that scene from _Gone With the Wind_ and he wonders if they’ll also have a tragic ending like that couple.

‘Bed,’ he pants against Zayn’s lips, breath ragged. He’s not sure how loud he’s said it with his heart thrumming deafeaningly in his chest, drowning everything else with its beat.

He wanted this for so long. And when Zayn nods and leads the way to his bed, Harry’s assured that Zayn desired this too. Somehow, that brings him relief.

They both stumble in Zayn’s bed clumsily, Harry crowding above the olive skinned man as if he’s about to devour him. Maybe he will because he can’t get enough of this sudden access to the stoic Zayn Malik.

With expert fingers he removes Zayn’s top and traces his trembling fingers at the expose skin while etching every detail into memory. Zayn lets him, eyes close and pliant. For the first time, Harry’s the director – the conductor – and it feels good.

He bends and kisses Zayn, because he can. Because at the moment he’s allowed to.

He grips unto Zayn’s forearm and notices the tattoo of a woman. Who is she? He wants to ask, but gets distracted when Zayn starts nipping on his jaw, Zayn’s unshave beard leaving a good burning sensation on his skin.

Who is she? He asks one last time to himself before he lets himself drown in Zayn’s kisses.

**

Harry stares at the ceiling, thousands of thoughts flood in his head. How did they both end up like this? Hadn’t they started with a push and pull – an endless game of that.

His initial plan was to make Zayn fall in love (with his acting skills) and not this: not let Zayn come closer to the truth about him. He’s not suppose to let anyone see beyond the masks he wears. He’s not suppose to feel like he needs to share about why the phone rings constantly and all the other skeletons he has in his closet.

The last bit scares him the most.

‘I’m sorry for last night,’ is what he hears from Zayn, who’s beside him the Queen size bed with white fluffy sheets.

He wants to scream: _don’t be._

‘So what happens now?’ Zayn asks, pulling himself away from Harry’s naked body and it aches a little.

‘You tell me, you’re the director,’ Harry replies, wants to do a hysterical laugh because this scene must be taken from _That Awkward Moment_. Though it’s a good thing there won’t be a more awkward scenario like in _Two Nights Stand_.

Zayn laughs though. ‘I’m an awful director.’

‘Thank god you know that,’ he agrees.

And they both laugh stupidly.

‘I’m… sorry for everything.’ Zayn sounds genuine and sad.

Harry wants to tell Zayn again not to be. Because if Zayn say it like this, it sounds like a goodbye. And he wants more of this.

Shock at his conscious truth that he wants _this_. Or aches to progress with Zayn. Because Zayn’s an arsehole – who called him an idiot on their first meeting – but at the same time, Zayn’s caring and he’s different now.

They’re _both_ different now.

‘Do you want to eat dinner at my place tommorow?’ Zayn asks quietly, his voice shaking a little, he’s staring at Harry as he turns to face the other man. He appears genuinely scared at the question itself and at Harry’s reply. This is new.

They’ve never been good at communication – always ignoring the problems and letting it fester. They’ve never shared anything other than snark comments and superficial conversations. They’ve pushed each other so much that could either leave them both in ruins or new chaos. And he’s glad it’s the latter.

 ‘Sure,’ he replies.

He’s not sure now, maybe Zayn’s not sure either. But they’ll work it out.

In the long run, he may tell Zayn about his phone that doesn’t stop ringing, about his father, about his mum, his nana, about Gemma and then Joyce and Christopher. And in return, maybe Zayn will tell him about that woman tattooed in his arm.

He’ll start slow. They both will.

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> In total, I tried to do my best despite the circumstances of my real life. Thank you for your time.


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